


Terrible Disastrous Things

by Rrrowr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Stiles, Dom Peter, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Spanking, Sub Stiles, Top Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kiss me," Peter said.</p>
<p>"What, now?" Stiles asked.</p>
<p>Peter adjusted the shoulders of Stiles' shirt, flattening out the wrinkles. "In your own time."</p>
<p>Stiles took a deep breath. "Okay, yeah. I'm gonna kiss you," he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Disastrous Things

"I know this isn't the proper protocol," Stiles started off almost as soon as he entered Peter's apartment. His hands were fidgety. His attention was scattered. By the time Peter had the door shut behind him, Stiles was pacing. "But honestly," he said. "I really don't have time for protocol."

"What was it?" Peter asked.

Stiles grimaced. "I need—" His head tilted to the side as he swung away from Peter in frustration. "I don't— It's not something I have an easy time saying."

"It wouldn't be," Peter said, "if you're coming to me for it."

"Well it's just, you're the only one who I think would do this. Hell, you might even enjoy it." Stiles waved a hand at Peter, a gesture that seemed intent on encompassing all of Peter's being. Stiles bit at his fingernails, staring at Peter for a few seconds. Peter waited him out. "Could you—" Stiles said. "Could you take charge of me, for a little bit?"

Peter raised a brow.

Stiles cycled his hands in front of him like he was trying to sweep the words out from his chest. "I need to feel like I don't have to worry about anything, okay? Like someone else is taking care of things for me."

"And you want me to what? Spank you, call you names, and tell you what a naughty boy you've been?" Peter drawled.

Stiles rankled so visibly that Peter had to smile a little. "I don't want the humiliation. I've got esteem issues as it is," Stiles said, but then turned a bit pink around the ears. "But, um, the spanking. And if you wanna call me a _good_ boy... that could be okay."

"You don't say," Peter murmured, and very softly, he turned the lock on the door. "Alright, come here. Let's see how compatible we are."

Stiles looked a little startled at being agreed with, but he cautiously came to stand in front of Peter. He was taller by just a smidge, which made being this close interesting. It wasn't something that Peter thought of often because Stiles was usualy hunched over, trying to be smaller and trying to hide. That just wouldn't do. If Peter was going to have Stiles to himself all night, he intended on having Stiles reveal everything.

Stiles fidgeted, restless in the silence.

"Kiss me," Peter said.

"What, now?" Stiles asked.

Peter adjusted the shoulders of Stiles' shirt, flattening out the wrinkles. "In your own time."

Stiles took a deep breath. "Okay, yeah. I'm gonna kiss you," he said.

His hand was shaking when it touched Peter's cheek, hesitating before turning Peter's face up to kiss. Stiles kissed carefully, faltering when Peter didn't immediately respond. He tried, Peter will give him some credit, though he remained still throughout Stiles' attempts. Stiles tried sucking at his lips, tried licking his way in, tried nipping, but Peter didn't help him at all.

It took a while before Peter could feel the surrender in him. Surrender and frustration and—

"Come on, Peter," Stiles whispered under his breath. "You gotta give me something to work with here."

Peter reached up then to fist his fingers in Stiles' hair, to drag him into a more preferable angle. Stiles gasped at being grabbed so suddenly, at being pulled down to his knees.

"You'll get what I want to give you," Peter said, rubbing his thumb over the corner of Stiles' mouth, forcing it open before bending to kiss him.

Stiles surged, straining against Peter's grip in his hair. He got one hand in Peter's shirt, but the other Peter caught before it could do anything. It was easy to take Stiles where he wanted him — to pull him to the sofa and release his mouth with a wet smack before bending him over the cushions.

"Stay," he said, petting his hand down Stiles' neck. "I'll be right back."

Stiles made a soft noise when Peter stepped away, and it made leaving him more difficult than Peter had expected. As he left the living room, there was a part of him that wanted to be back there with Stiles, covering him, making sure that Stiles could be certain that he would never escape — that Peter would never leave him alone. So, Peter was quick about getting what he wanted — lube and a cable tie. It wasn't the kind of bondage that he'd favor if given a choice, but his options were limited at the moment.

When he got back to the living room, Stiles was exactly where Peter put him, though he perked up at the sound of his footsteps. His breathing picked up too as Peter got closer. 

Peter slid his hand under Stiles' shirt, smoothing his fingers over his knobby spine. "Good boy," he said, amused at himself for being unable to resist when Stiles had given him permission.

Stiles had his eyes closed, but he smiled as he pushed his face into the cushions — shy, maybe, not wanting Peter see that he was enjoying himself.

"Take off your shirt," he said, giving Stiles room to do just that, and tucked the lube and cable tie into his back pocket.

Stiles stretched up, pulling his shirt off as he went. His back was a speckled canvas for Peter to admire, and Peter skated his knuckles between Stiles' shoulder blades. He took the shirt before Stiles could toss it aside and folded it lengthwise so that it was a long, thick strip.

He pushed Stiles back down to the cushions. "Hands," he said, and Stiles folded his hands behind his back, so obedient that Peter started to feel the first stirrings of real enjoyment out of this.

Somehow, he'd expected that Stiles would fight more — that he would want Stiles to fight more, but having Stiles obey him without question made Peter want to _do_ terrible, disastrous things to him. He supposed he'd have to just live with what he managed to do tonight.

Peter wrapped Stiles' wrists with the folded shirt and then pulled the cable tie around them, looping the ends together and tightening them just enough that Stiles wouldn't be able to get out on his own. Against the sofa, Stiles was breathing harshly. Curious, Peter reached between Stiles' thighs and cupped up under his dick. Even through his jeans, the bulge of Stiles' cock was apparent, pushing so hard against its confines that its heat was bleeding through the fabric. Stiles moaned when Peter dragged his fingers over it.

"Mmmm," Peter hummed, squeezing his fingers lightly — Stiles jerked his hips down into the touch and bit off another sound. "I'm going to enjoy this a lot."

Stiles gave a shocked squawk when Peter hooked his fingers in the back of his jeans and hauled him completely onto the sofa. Peter might not be the werewolf that he used to be, but he had more than enough strength to toss a boy of Stiles' size around all night. Stiles shifted into a more stable position — face down and on his knees with his ass in the air — but Peter pulled his knees out from under him as he forcibly undressed the rest of him. Shoes, gone. The jeans didn't even really need unbuckling because they were always threatening to fall off of Stiles as it was. The boxers, though — Peter let him keep those, though they were already halfway down his thighs from removing the rest. He pushed them around Stiles' knees and then grabbed Stiles' hips to bring him back up to a kneeling position.

Stiles kept twisting around to watch him — eyes wide and just a little scared. "You gonna spank me?" he asked, sounding breathless, and the question had him blushing — pink ears turning red, the color spreading mottled and down over his shoulders

"Do you want me to spank you?" Peter asked. "You should keep in mind how strong I am. It might be too much for you to take." He stroked fingers over Stiles' ass as he asked. The skin there was very smooth — so untouched that Peter almost felt bad for all the things he wanted to do to it.

Stiles wiggled against the touch as he thought, fingers flexing. "I think— I think I could take it."

Peter brought his hand back and laid a solid smack along the underside of Stiles' cheek. He'd held back some of his strength, but Stiles cried out sharply regardless. That was real pain, there, and Peter petted his knuckles against the mark he left. The skin was flushing a bright, bright red, and soon, it started to throb against his fingers, beating in time to the fast pace of Stiles' heart.

"What do you think now?" Peter asked.

Stiles huffed, trying to catch his breath and kept his eyes on Peter. "I... don't know," he admitted.

Peter smiled. "Let's see how much I think you can take."

He pulled his hand back, and Stiles tensed, bracing himself, but Peter just came back to squeeze over the first mark, forcing out a hiss from between Stiles' teeth. The next time, Peter spanked him sharply on the opposite cheek, pulling blood to the surface of Stiles' skin so that its flush matched its partner's.

Stiles' breath wheezed out of him, and he rocked forward with the next strike. Even though the hits were undoubtedly more than Stiles could take for an extended period of time, that didn't seem to stop Stiles from liking it in some way. Peter could smell Stiles' dick easily. He didn't even have to tease it out with his superior senses. It was leaking so heavily that there was probably going to be a stain on the cushion after this. He struck Stiles again over the first mark, and Stiles gave a throaty groan.

"You're going to bruise nicely," Peter commented and smacked his hand on the other cheek. Sweat was beginning to dot out on Stiles' back — a thin sheen that covered the narrow dips of his spine. "Shame that you might only have them here." 

Peter then struck lower at the underside of Stiles' thighs, where was less fat and meat to take the brunt of the power. This time, Stiles jerked like he was trying to get away, squirming to the other end of the sofa until Peter caught him by his bound wrists and gave him three quick hits to the thighs for his trouble. When Peter looked, there were tears in Stiles' eyes.

"There, see," he said. "Now you'll have something to really remember tonight by."

He dragged his nails over the reddened skin — blunt nails that barely blanched the skin — and Stiles whimpered, "Don't—"

Peter patted Stiles backside gently. "Relax. You did well."

"Hurts," Stiles replied with a petulant lilt.

"I bet it does," Peter told him without remorse and pulled the lube out from his pocket. He stuck it between his teeth as he turned Stiles over onto his back. 

It might be uncomfortable for Stiles to be lying on his arms, but Stiles didn't come here for comfort. 

"Legs up," he said, and when Stiles obediently pulled his knees as close to his chest as he could, Peter sat in the space they gave.

He smeared some lube on one finger while Stiles watched. He half expected for Stiles to ask him what he was doing, but Stiles was smart, so surely he'd know without asking. If he didn't, then he'd know soon when Peter rubbed some lube around his hole and then pushed his finger in. He wasn't, Peter supposed, all that gentle about it, but Stiles didn't seem to mind. His breath caught when Peter started moving his finger and then, as Peter started stroking the smooth bump of his prostate, Stiles began to rock back into it. His legs strained to spread wider, but couldn't, caught around the knees by his boxers.

"Peter," Stiles grit out. "Please, can you—"

Peter added a little more lube and gave him a second finger. Stiles' eyes rolled shut, toes curling, ass clenching hot around Peter's fingers. He let Stiles get used to two fingers, pushed them deeper, stroked so firmly over Stiles' prostate that his cock jerked and blurted a bit of come onto his belly. Stiles barely noticed when Peter pulled his boxers off. The third finger took more effort. Peter had to shove one of Stiles' legs to the side, holding it under the knee. Stiles kept the other hooked over the back of the sofa. It was just enough leverage that Stiles did all the work himself to rock back onto Peter's three fingers until they were inside him to the knuckle.

"God," Stiles gasped. "I—" Peter nipped at the inside of Stiles' thigh, and he clenched so tightly around Peter's fingers that he could feel his heartbeat. "I need to come," he moaned. "Peter... Peter, I need to come."

"Mmhm," Peter murmured agreeably.

Stiles cursed when Peter did nothing but continue thrusting his fingers in and out of his hole. Peter even stopped playing with his prostate. If it got touched, then it was incidental. Stiles seemed to like being filled, but he'd have to work harder if Peter was going to let him come.

"Please," Stiles whispered, trembling when Peter dragged his mouth against the inside of his thigh. His beard was starting to leave red marks here too. "Please..."

"I think you can come just like this," Peter assured him. "It might take longer, but you can."

Stiles tossed his head back with a rough, ragged breath. "Do it harder then," he snarled. "I thought you had werewolf strength."

Peter muffled his laugh against Stiles knee, but did as he was told, lowering his grip to Stiles' hip to brace Stiles while he screwed his fingers in faster and harder. Stiles thrashed, then — fingers digging into the cushions underneath him. The lube sounded sloppy. Stiles' dick leaked and pulsed like it wanted to come.

Eventually Stiles bit back a sob and said, "I can't. I can't. I'm so close."

"You can," Peter said.

"It's not enough," Stiles gasped. "I need— please!"

"What do you think you need?" Peter asked.

"Fuck me," Stiles bit out. "Come on, Peter. Give me your dick."

Peter hummed, gently kissing Stiles' knee and feeling Stiles shake. "I suppose you've earned it."

He didn't bother undressing more than he needed to. He pulled up his shirt and pushed his pants and underwear out of the way just enough to expose the full length of his dick. Stiles' hole was flexing around nothing — gaping and empty, shining with lube — and when Peter pushed inside, Stiles was hot and slick around him.

Stiles had his eyes closed when Peter leaned over him, gasping whenever Peter shifted. He was flushed so prettily that Peter had to pet him, had to murmur: "That's it. Take me in. That's my good boy."

Peter entertained for a moment the idea of pulling Stiles into his lap and making him ride Peter to completion, but Stiles smelled good just like this — the scent of his arousal spread across the soft fabric of the sofa. When Peter bent his head to Stiles' throat, it was the perfect gathering of scent.

"You want to be fucked hard, right?" Peter asked.

Stiles nodded tightly, turning to hide his face against Peter's shoulder. "Please," he whispered.

Peter circled his hips in a little, just to get a feel for what he was working with. Stiles was all softness inside, clenching velvet heat around his dick. "You're going to scream for me, aren't you?"

Stiles moaned softly, and when Peter started to pump his hips, building up his thrusts until their skin was meeting in hard slaps, Stiles tossed his head back, mouth open to take in great lungfuls of air. There would probably be bruises from this too — from Peter's hand holding Stiles' leg up, from the zipper of his jeans scratching at skin that was already raw. Little bursts of sound came out of Stiles with every thrust — hiccups of noise driven out of his lungs with the force. Stiles looked utterly lost to it. Then Peter felt Stiles' fingers, teasing up between them, dragging along the underside of his cock, finding the place where they were joined.

"Shit," Peter hissed and shoved his dick in harder than he'd intended.

Stiles arched with a shout, shivering and coming all over himself so hard that his dick spat come all the way up to his collarbones. Peter snarled, pulling out before the tight clench of Stiles' body could make him come. He flipped Stiles over just as quickly, and with a snap of his claws, had the cable tie undone and the folded shirt tossed aside. Stiles pulled his arms up just in time, really, for Peter to climb over him and slide right back in. He took it all with a short curse, his body swallowing up the whole of Peter's cock like they were meant to be joined like this.

"You really do need to be fucked by a werewolf, don't you?" Peter growled — talking nonsense, really. "You can't come like that with a human."

Stiles didn't seem to have it in him to answer. He was drawn like a bow under Peter, hips canted up to receive Peter's dick and his back dipping into a low arch. Stiles pushed himself onto his elbows and tipped his head back onto Peter's shoulder. While Peter fucked him, Stiles mouthed and kissed at his cheek and jaw until Peter grabbed him by the hair again, forcing him into a deeper arch for a proper kiss.

Stiles was completely receptive now, body lazy with orgasm — just a loose, wet, hot body that was available for Peter to fuck — but as Peter rammed into him, Stiles started to pant again, shivering and then tightening up for a few seconds before going slack again — another orgasm driven hard on the heels of the first. With a few more thrusts, Peter came inside him, and Stiles made a noise like he was upset that it was over.

"That's my boy," Peter said, dragging his teeth across Stiles' throat. "My good, fuckable boy."

There was so much come that it started to leak out around Peter's cock, even though Stiles seemed to be trying to keep as much of it in as he could. Peter pulled out of him with a grunt, and seeing the way Stiles reached back immediately to cover to his hole, he gathered the dripping come on his fingertips and fed it back into his body.

"Should get you a plug for next time," Peter said idly, rubbing his thumb around Stiles' rim and thinking about seeing the fat end of a plug between Stiles' reddened cheeks. Stiles hummed agreeably as he pillowed head on his hands. "This wasn't so bad. I could do it again."

Stiles breathed deeply. "Yeah," he said. "S'good."

Peter raised a brow at him. "Are you going to sleep?"

"Mmhm."

"Great," Peter muttered, shoving some of his sweaty hair back from his face. "That's human for you. Fucked the anxiety right out of you."

But Stiles was already asleep with a small, satisfied smile on his face.


End file.
